Choking
by Corpse In Bright Clothing
Summary: Dewey has Francis worried. "And I'm not sure whether you want to kill yourself, or have sex with me, but at any rate, we need to talk."
1. Chapter 1

Dewey's head had always been a mystery to his brothers. For one thing, he occasionally listened to classical music, as he did now. Now matter what was going on inside him, he kept his usual airy expressions and mannerisms. Malcolm saw him playing out a silent film from his mind with toys and action figures; he rolled his eyes, went on his way. And of course there's more.

In the middle of turning a toy dinosaur's head so it could bite its own neck, Dewey froze. A voice outside the bedroom had asked for his location, and footsteps neared it. Dewey shrunk inwardly upon himself, tried a smile on for size and decided on a blank face.

Francis entered, frantic and appearing exhausted. He seemed to be between gulping and choking as he managed to say, "There you are." He was breathing heavily, and he extended an arm holding a torn envelope.

"You read my poem."

"I did," said Francis, "And I'm not sure whether you want to kill yourself, or have sex with me, but at any rate, we need to talk."

Dewey shook ever-so-slightly, holding a pause as if either taken aback or deciding what to say. He was sure he had a plan for this, but after the nerve-corroding wait and the intensity of an actual confrontation, Dewey was at a loss. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked.

Dewey had expectations. Maybe Francis would have rushed into a hug with him, or they would elope to Delaware or Ireland, or_ something_. No matter the unlikelihood, Dewey could only imagine the most favorable of outcomes.

Francis could only ask, "What's up with you?"

And it was back on Dewey.

Dewey sighed and slowly descended to sitting on the floor. Francis sat as well, a few feet in front of and facing him; his expression was soft but firm, his eyes not searching or pleading but patient. Yet Dewey looked away.

"What is it, kiddo?"

Dewey said many things in his mind, held several imaginary conversations, each progressively depressive, until he realized he was glaring into the floor, and Francis was waiting. Dewey was absolutely choking.

Francis bounced a little, and pulled up the envelope again. "Wanna know what I think?"

"No," Dewey answered immediately.

Francis opened his mouth to tell him anyway, but he stopped himself. He really didn't want to hurt Dewey.

"Tell you what," Francis said in a way that made the whole world lighter; for one instant Dewey was hopeful, and in the next he berated himself viciously. "How about I take you to the carnival that's in town?"

Dewey laughed. _Just where the freak belongs_, he thought.

"We can go on every ride, and I'll buy you cotton candy."

"Sweet," said Dewey, and he offered Francis a smile.

And as they left, Francis said, "Not as sweet as you."


	2. Chapter 2

No one understood Dewey's turmoil; didn't realize he was even in any. In his family he found no comfort, refuge, or anything even resembling love. Only were things outwardly the same. No one knew Dewey had met his impasse.

In Dewey's heart there was always hope. However, the full confrontation was fruitless. There could be nothing further; he knew this.

He threw all his toys across the room or at the floor. Nothing else in his world was broken enough; as broken as him.

Disillusionment had never been his friend. Dewey always told himself stories; created his own friends, when he couldn't make real ones, or when his brothers were just too cruel; and he always liked to believe he'd have a fairytale ending with Francis. Suddenly everything felt hollow; Dewey gave up.

Francis was gone. Francis ...

Francis was fine. He was just fine. Until Dewey came in and messed up things, as he figured; Francis shouldn't have to worry about him. Francis was perfect; without Dewey.

Dewey grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and he took it to the bedroom. Then he repeatedly ran it across the neck of his toy dinosaur until it was in two parts. Finally, he hurled it all to the floor to join the rest of the mess.

Dewey breathed, calmed himself.

He had been deliberating for a long time, and now he was certain. He had every reason he could conceive. It was the easier option.

No one would get hurt. No one should care. He wondered who would even notice.

Dewey hummed pleasantly to himself, drowning out the voices screaming every reason Francis would never have him, as he left to and then returned from the bathroom with a bottle of sleeping pills, played Corelli's 'La Folia' (quite long, quite lovely, and with violin - the instrument of death), swallowed every pill, and finally laid himself down to relax and drift away.


	3. Chapter 3

The rough first words Dewey heard when he started to open his eyes were: "Don't worry; we're keeping mom out."

Struggling behind his eyelids, beneath some bright light, he managed: "She's not going to hell, is she?"

There was no laughter. There was nothing. And the epic quiet from before resumed.

Dewey's visitor had been waiting quite a while for him to be conscious, but Dewey had been silent for even longer, and he was perfectly content to return to silence. The visitor spoke again next.

"Actually, I'm keeping everyone out. It's just you and me in here."

Dewey's eyes flashed open at this.

Of course it was Francis.

Dewey groaned inwardly and turned his head to face away from his brother. This sucked. He was going to see how wrong he was in convincing himself Francis wouldn't be hurt by this. Then, he was going to have to go home and try to be perfectly happy, or try again and, he hoped, succeed this time in killing himself.

"Well, say something."

In a throaty voice Dewey muttered, "What do you want me to say?"

"Well, you took half a bottle of sleeping pills, hoping you would never wake up, and no one out there knows why. Care to explain that?"

"No," Dewey answered, shutting his eyes tightly.

"Come one, Dewey," Francis pleaded. "We all care about you, even if you don't believe it, and I know I wouldn't. ..." He stopped, realizing both that he was rambling and the likelihood nothing he was saying was helping at all.

"Dewey, I ..." Francis was choking. "I love you. You know that, right?"

Dewey only retained his illusion of sleep, and it was almost as if Francis had been holding this conversation in his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Piama didn't know what was going on with the kid, but it obviously had something to do with Francis. After hours of waiting alone in Dewey's hospital room and keeping everyone away Francis had walked out looking defeated. Lois, Hal, Reese, Malcolm and Piama all approached when they saw him, and displayed various levels of emotion. Lois insisted she be allowed to see her son, and Francis said that was the last thing he needed. He seemed to be mulling over that statement when Lois came back, apparently gearing up for a fight. When Francis barely reacted she let off. If Francis was too weary to argue with his mother, it was bad. She asked what was going on; if he'd said anything. Francis said he thought Dewey should be left alone until they came back for him tomorrow. Piama almost said something then but instead just nodded once, a gesture no one noticed. She embraced her husband, patting his back and whispering soothing things in his ear.

Lois and Hal talked on and on in their bedroom with the door closed. Reese offered wilder and wilder explanations to Malcolm, Francis and Piama in the living room, and Malcolm gently rebuffed each one, devoid of his customary sardonicism. Piama would consider something and always decide against speaking. Francis sighed a lot, too pensive to notice his wife's quiet. The house seemed quieter than usual and somehow empty without Dewey and his eccentric behavior. Even his brothers missed him a little.

When it was finally the two of them Francis found it in him to talk to Piama about what was going on even if he didn't understand it very well himself.

He told Piama about how happy Dewey seemed when they went to the circus. He said he couldn't have seen this coming. What he didn't talk about was the look he remembered seeing in Dewey's eyes when they said goodbye that day.

He told Piama that Dewey had seemed to want him here but didn't want to talk to him at the hospital. What he couldn't bring himself to say was that he thought Dewey seemed to just be waiting for another chance to kill himself.

Piama wasn't saying anything and had almost a blank face. She was either deep in thought or in shock or something. The hours of waiting for Dewey to wake up came back to Francis, and he responded with more alarm than was normal when he asked why she was so quiet.

Piama asked a question Francis hadn't been expecting. He looked at her with something dawning on his face. She said, "What do you think?"


End file.
